The Patrician

by Joan Kayse

  His groan of approval sounded in her ears. In two quick strides they were at the bed. Bypassing the stool, he lifted her onto the pallet, laying her down with an urgency that jarred her. Bryna smiled. She did not mind the rougher handling. Her own blood ran like flame. Through hooded eyes she watched Jared, still straddling her, draw his tunic over his head. Gods, she loved the sculpted muscles of that broad chest, the crisp midnight black hair that disappeared beneath his loincloth. Her smile deepened at the tenting of the cloth. Would she ever look on this man, her husband, and not feel wonder?

  His gaze burned hot as she slipped the sleeves of her dress from her shoulders. She sucked in a breath as he helped her shed the rest of the garment, the touch of his large hands sending shivers of delight through her as his fingers feathered against her ribs.

  Bunching the material at her waist he leaned over her, trailed hot kisses from her ear down to the hollow of her neck. A deep warmth pooled in her belly as he continued along her collarbone until finally he dipped his head and took one breast into his mouth. A jolt of fire and want shot through her core. Bryna arched her back as he laved the nipple with his hot, moist tongue. “Jared!” The cry was desperate. Damn him, and his teasing. Even when she tried to spread her legs farther apart, all but begging him to enter her, he only laughed and nipped at her other breast. Gods!

  “You are so beautiful,” he breathed. She shuddered as he kissed her stomach, used his right hand to massage her mound in slow, lazy circles. She moaned, lifted her hips toward him. Through hazed vision, she saw him smile “Not yet, my love.”

  She moaned when he inserted his finger into her sheath, stroking until she was hot and slick, ready to accept him.

  Jared braced his arms on either side of her, and when she would have reached up to draw him down to her, took her hands in his own and held them above her head. He bent over and, kissing her, thrust deep.

  Her senses became useless. She was aware only of Jared, of his presence within, of her love for him. They reached their peak together, passion erupting into a world of color.

  His ragged breath was hot against her neck, her heart slammed against her chest with such force that she worried it would leap straight out into Jared’s hand. She slid her hands over his shoulders, raked her nails down his back as he brought her to shattering climax. With a deep shuddering cry of release he sent his seed deep into her womb.

  Bryna’s entire body went limp. Her eyes would not focus and she wasn’t entirely certain she’d ever breathe normally again. Jared had rolled to his side but the weight of his hips and his leg stretched between hers felt wonderful.

  He propped his head on his hand. Gods, she loved the way he looked at her. Reaching out, she stroked damp, midnight tendrils of hair from his forehead, smiled at his contented sigh. How could she love someone so much? Each time they made love, their hearts, their very existences were being woven into a complicated tapestry.

  “You’re trembling,” he said, his voice husky. He caught her hand, kissed the inside of her wrist. “Let me warm you.”

  “I’m not cold,” she replied. “Just...just unsure.”

  He raised an eyebrow and looked at her in mock indignation. “Unsure? Well, that bruises a man’s ego.”

  Bryna laughed. “Not about that. In that you are well accomplished.” She sobered. “I was thinking of Bran.”

  Jared went still. “Your brother? Why?”

  Bryna frowned, searched his face. His expression had gone bland, unreadable. “I want to start my search for him.”

  “No.”

  She did not care for the tone of command in his voice. “What do you mean no?”

  “It is too dangerous.”

  Bryna scrambled to her knees and looked down at him. “You promised to assist me with finding my brother.” He did not reply. She forced her voice to remain calm and prodded. “When we returned to Alexandria.”

  “Bryna,” Jared replied, swinging his legs to the side of the bed, “You must know you have to realize after all we’ve endured that it would be a futile search.”

  Bryna’s heart sank, her disbelief so keen it cut into her like a sharp knife. “He is alive. I made a promise to him.” She swallowed hard. “I keep my promises.”

  Jared cut her a sharp look over his shoulder. “Promises are easily made when one is desperate.”

  “Was that what spurred you to make your pledge to me?” Bryna’s voice sounded hollow to her own ears.

  Jared released a breath. “Do not twist my words around.”

  “But it’s what you believe!”

  “What I believe is that your brother cannot still be alive and even if he were, he’d be wishing death to end his suffering.”

  Bryna could only stare at Jared’s back, his harsh words twisting the invisible blade into her very soul. “Bran is alive and I will find him. Without your assistance.”

  “No. You. Will. Not.” Jared stood, swiped his tunic from the floor and dressed in angry, jerking motions. “There is no more to say on the matter.”

  When he turned to her, a wave of cold swept over Bryna. In manner and expression he was every bit a Roman.

  “I will send a maidservant to see to your needs. I have household accounts and business matters to sort out. Do not leave this room.”

  Bryna squared her shoulders. “You would make me a prisoner?” she asked.

  He belted his tunic, pinned her with a hard glare. “Call it what you will. I am your husband. And a wife, even a barbarian wife, must do as she is told.”

  Jared paused at the doorway. Bryna thought he would speak, apologize for his behavior, assure her she would find Bran. Instead, he stalked out without a backward glance.

  Bryna stared after him, numb. Hope. She had actually begun to hope that she would have a future here. A future with Jared. How stupid could she have been? Despite all of his gentle words, she was still a possession. Instead of a slave she was a wife.

  She picked up her shift from the foot of the bed and calmly dressed, poured water into the basin and washed her face, her fingers lingering over the swollen tenderness of her lips. She closed her eyes against the tears. He had wanted her. She knew he had wanted her. Moreover, he had come to her with passion. With love.

  Love. How could her gift have failed her so miserably? Were the connections she felt when Jared came to her only physical in nature, with no other cause or reason? She swallowed hard against the lump in her throat. Jared was like all Romans, a conqueror interested only in the possessing rather than the cherishing.

  When she finished washing, she straightened the covers with quick, determined strokes. He could take his highhanded Roman edicts fling them, and himself, into the sea. She did not need him to live her life.

  Her hand faltered over a wrinkle in the cloth. One single truth worried the edge of her pride. She was a prisoner. With a certainty so deep that even her stubborn pride could not deny it, she knew that she was trapped, imprisoned, held against her will.

  She loved Jared.

  It was as simple as that. No, not simple at all for he did not love her in return. Not if he could treat her like this. She sat hard on the edge of the bed, rubbed her temples, tried to bring order to her thoughts. She stared at the rose tinted surface of the sea beyond, knowing there was only one solution.

  Jared claimed her as his wife, then wife she would be. She would learn to run the household in the proper manner of a merchant prince’s wife. She would do what she must to find his betrayer, keep her end of their bargain. She would be all that Jared needed until Bran was found.

  Then she would return to Eire. Jared would no longer have to deal with the stigma of his barbarian wife, and she—Bryna rubbed at the pain in her chest—she would learn to live without her heart.

  Chapter Twenty Three

  He wasn’t supposed to be alive. That alone was enough to gall him, set his temper soaring. He snatched a sheet of vellum from the stack on the desk. Not only did the abomination return to claim his property—p
roperty that he, himself, had been putting to good use—but added to the shame by bringing home a barbarian wife. A barbarian!

  His companion stared out the window, too agitated to speak. Picking up the stylus, he began to scratch out a missive. He could not allow Jared ben Gideon to ruin everything he had worked for. There would be no more miracles. This time he would personally see to his death.

  ***

  “As you can see, master, the storeroom inventory is in order.”

  Jared tilted his head, looked blankly at Talus. “What did you say?”

  The steward sighed patiently, as though he had not already repeated himself three times. He sent a nervous glance to Damon who lounged against the desk. “I said sir, that the storeroom inventory is complete.”

  Jared studied the scattered parchments in front of him. It was as if he were noticing them for the first time. In the hour he had spent with Talus all he had been able to see were bewildered green eyes, confused and hurt.

  She’d been right to challenge him, hold his promise up and demand its fulfillment. He was a man who kept vows whether made to a supplier, a fellow tradesman. A wife.

  Jared unrolled a third parchment, tried to concentrate on the ledgers. But this time was different. He would protect her at all costs and if she think him a bastard in the process? Well, he’d play the role to keep her safe.

  “Master?” Talus’ voice broke through the haze of his thoughts.

  Jared straightened the scrolls. “The accounts look in fine order. However, the amount of money spent on food and household goods seems quite exorbitant. Certainly out of proportion to what is left in my coffers.”

  Talus’ cheeks grew red. “Master Gideon and his children—”

  Jared nodded in understanding. “Of course. It would cost more to feed a combined household.” He eyed the nervous man. “My uncle brought you here to act as steward?”

  Talus inclined his head. “Yes, sir. I was purchased for my skills at running a household. I have been here half a year.”

  “The same length of time you were gone,” noted Damon, rounding the table. “What of the slaves who resided here prior to that time?”

  “I do not know master. I can only assume they were sent to work someplace else or sold.”

  Damon rubbed his chin. “Why would Gideon replace the entire household staff? For that matter, why did he and his entire family move into your villa?

  The frown on Damon’s face mirrored his own. Jared’s jaw tightened. There were many questions that needed answers.

  “Will there be anything else, master?” asked Talus.

  “Actually, there is. It concerns my wife.”

  “Ahhh,” said Talus, his expression relaxing. “A very beautiful lady.”

  Bryna was beautiful. Not only in form but in spirit as well. A spirit that had shaken him to his very core and turned his world upside down. And if you aren’t careful, you’ll drive her away, too, his conscience accused. “The Lady Bryna does not hail from Alexandria or even Rome. Her experience at keeping a house such as this is very limited.” Non-existent unless you counted the hours toiling at Gaius’ villa.

  Talus folded his hands in front of him. “I will do my utmost to ensure that things run smoothly.”

  “I have no doubt. However, it will be important, for various reasons, that her lack of knowledge not be known.” replied Jared. He met Talus’ puzzled expression. “She will need guidance in all areas. I do not want anyone, especially my family, realizing how much help she will need. You will find her a quick study.”

  “I will begin this morning.”

  “One more thing. My wife must not realize she is being helped.”

  The only indication of the butler’s puzzlement came in the small wrinkle between his brows. Talus bowed, began to back out of the room. He paused at the door. “One other question, if I may, Master. Does the care of Lady Bryna also include her cat?”

  He smiled ruefully. “I’m afraid so, Talus. She’s very attached to the creature.”

  Talus turned a bit green.

  “One more thing, Talus.”

  “Sir?”

  Jared picked up a scroll. “This record of sale states that you and the rest of the present household staff were purchased using coin from my own personal funds.” Talus stiffened. “As such you answer to me and only me. No one else. Do you understand?

  Again, Talus bowed. “Yes, master. I am your servant.”

  “Do your job well, Talus, and you will find yourself free.”

  Jared’s gut clenched at the impact his words had on the slave. The same hope that had sustained him during his months in chains filled Talus’ sharp black eyes.

  “Then you can be assured I will do the job well.” With that, the steward left exited out the door.

  “It’s very strange,” drawled Damon, replacing the rolls in their wooden coffer. “Your uncle replacing every servant you had, moving his children and their families into your house.”

  “Strange, indeed.” Jared tapped the stylus against his chin. He’d always prided himself on weighing all options, gathering information and looking at every angle of a problem before deciding on a course of action. “I think we need to pay my uncle a visit.”

  “Agreed,” Damon said, flipping the latch closed on the coffer. He crossed his arms and sent Jared a pointed look. “Now, are you going to tell me what you did to Bryna that has you so pre-occupied?”

  Jared started to defend himself, blew out a resigned sigh instead. “I acted the ass and still lost the contest.” He laughed at Damon’s puzzled expression and shoved away from the desk. There were two tasks he must accomplish—find the kidnapper and win his wife’s trust—and heart—back.

  ***

  “Have you ever seen such beautiful flowers?” Miriam asked.

  Bryna nodded absently. The gardens ringing the terrace were filled with every color of flower imaginable, all set off with the deep green of broadleaf ferns and the gangly shade of palm trees. But in her eyes, even these wonders could not compare with the hills of Eire, covered with purple heather.

  Where she would eventually return without Jared. The brilliance of the memory faded.

  He hadn’t returned to their room last night, left her to lie awake, first hating him with every fiber of her being then aching for him to hold her in those strong arms. He made her feel safe, alive. Gods, he made her feel complete.

  Miriam swung her legs with the abandon of youth into a wading pool. “This is much more fun than household chores.”

  Bryna returned the girl’s smile, but groaned inwardly. Household duties. She was mistress and she had no idea where to begin.

  “Yet chores are necessary to the running of a household.” Elizabeth slid out from a side door. The smile pasted on her face failed to hide a simmering anger in her eyes. The old wariness Bryna had felt as a slave sprang to life at the condescending, cold tone of Elizabeth’s voice and she had to stop herself from slipping into the schooled submissiveness she had used to survive her enslavement. Gathering herself, she lifted her chin. “Good morn.”

  Elizabeth ignored her, glided up to sit on a limestone bench. Dressed in a mantle of vivid red, heavily embroidered with swirls of gold, she looked every inch a noble lady. A harried maidservant struggled to keep a large parasol positioned just so to shade her mistress from the hot Egyptian sun.

  Elizabeth, her calculating gaze never leaving Bryna, said something in Aramic to Miriam, whose mouth formed an astonished circle.

  She did not understand the words, but judging from the child’s reaction, it had not been flattering. If she were to establish herself as mistress, she must make a stand. Mustering her courage, she straightened and faced Elizabeth.

  “Until such time as I am able to learn the language of my husband’s people, I would appreciate your using Greek or the Roman’s language so that I may converse directly with you.”

  Elizabeth’s lips pressed into a stern line, her cheeks flushed hot red. She quirked a brow. �
�I find it odd you would marry a Hebrew, yet not know his language?”

  Bryna smiled indulgently. “Jared is also Roman.”

  “Indeed,” answered Elizabeth tightly. She waved her hand, directing the slave girl to adjust the parasol, blocking the single ray of light that had managed to find her arm. “I find it terribly interesting that Jared would take a wife at all. You see, he’s never shown the least bit interest in matrimony. Now, mind you, he’s shown interest in women.” She looked pointedly at Bryna. “Many women. But never in such a permanent way.”

  The barb hit its mark. Men had their needs, even within the civilized world of the Romans. Bryna was not so naive as to think otherwise. Now that he was wed? Her heart sank at the thought of Jared seeking solace in another woman’s arms.

  “Did you meet in Rome?” Elizabeth persisted.

  This cousin of Jared’s was wily. “We were introduced at a villa some distance from the city.”

  Elizabeth’s did little to hide her annoyance at the vague answer. “A villa in the Roman countryside? How very, um, rustic. A villa is romantic.”

  Bryna slanted her gaze at Elizabeth. If back-breaking labor, chains, hunger and the lash equated romance then Gaius’ villa had indeed been romantic.

  Elizabeth continued to press. “You must have spent quite a lot of time together.”

  “You could say we never left each other’s side,” she answered sweetly.

  Jared, concealed in the shadow of the portico, chuckled. Elizabeth would probably die of apoplexy should she find out they had been chained together. He had arrived at the garden at the same time as his inquisitive cousin after an afternoon trying to keep his distance from his wife, and spending a futile hour questioning his uncle and Baram about the sequence of events in his absence. Gideon had chided him about the absurdity of his inquiries and Baram had blatantly ignored the questions. It only added to his frustration to find his mind wandering to images of Bryna’s soft lips.